


The Light In Your Eyes

by CaptainTarthister



Series: The Affair [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Explicit Language, F/M, Marriage, Married Sex, Miscarriage, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oberyn and Brienne, when things were good. Also, Jaime and Brienne meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ripe for Picking

**Author's Note:**

> This installment would be flashbacks. I want to show how things were with Oberyn and Brienne and how Jaime and Brienne meet.

Two years ago

Brienne sat in the centre of the bed, her sapphire eyes drowsy and droopy as she stared at Oberyn packing. They had neglected to closed the drapes last night so the sun blasted them right in the eyes this morning. It bathed Oberyn in a rich light that emphasized his olive skin, coffee-brown eyes. In the brilliance, Brienne seemed to melt into it, and was outlined only in the explosion of freckles all over from forehead down to her chest. She clutched the comforter to her chest, the rustling sound drawing Oberyn’s attention.

His grin was playful but reproaching. “Baby, come on. Don’t do this.”

“I can’t help it,” Brienne told him. “You’re always traveling now.”

“Not always,” he pointed out, zipping his suitcase shut. He straightened up. Lean as a rake but muscular, Oberyn’s body was built for speed and efficiency rather than strength. Thus his movements were easy and light despite hardly getting any sleep last night. Brienne went to him, crawling on her hands and knees before she got close enough to rise to a kneeling position. With a shy smirk, she reached for the towel knotted around his hips.

Oberyn watched as she exposed his body to her blue gaze. “You want me to miss my flight?”

“I don’t want you to go anywhere.” She told him honestly, cupping his face. With her height, they were almost at level despite him standing upright and her kneeling on the bed. “I thought we’d have more time now, together, with your promotion.”

As regional director of sales and management for Dayne Systems International, Oberyn traveled frequently. Sometimes he was gone for close to three weeks before he was off again a few days later. It was brutal, to be honest about it. There were so many nights Brienne was left alone. She could go out but her friends were few and she wasn’t a big fan of being out late anyway. Her job at the museum kept her busy but that was only for eight hours and only more when there was a major exhibit. 

Since Oberyn’s growing absence, she had redecorated their living room, signed up for language classes and had steadily advanced to the next level, discovered new restaurants with Margaery, met Margaery’s new boyfriend, saw her Dad Selwyn and a lot of other things. It left her exhausted and when Oberyn was home during the weekend, he’d much rather stay in bed recovering until he had to leave again. She couldn’t even remember the last time they had breakfast together. Or done anything together except for quick fucks that scratched a mutual itch.

Oberyn began kissing her neck, licking and nipping at the freckled skin. He dragged the sheets from her body. She sighed. “I miss you so much.” As his kisses became more fervent, she arched her neck in offering. Soft, tasting kisses were pressed on her skin, moving up her throat, to her jaw, then down, to the pulse, further until Oberyn mouthed her nipple briefly. He rubbed his lips across the broad expanse of her chest, mouth opening to pull one nipple then the other between his teeth. She speared her fingers through his thick black hair, angling his face up so she could kiss him on the lips and lick. 

“What would you have me do, baby,” he murmured, pushing her easily back to bed. She smiled up at him as he rested on his elbows above her. “You want me to quit my job, be a stay-at-home husband?”

“No. I just want you here, with me, more often.” She met his kiss before pulling away. “The only time we’re together is when we fuck.”

He grinned. “We do know how to make it count.”

“I want us to do other things besides fuck.” She said as his lips trailed down her chest. Helplessly, she cooed in pleasure as he tongued her swollen nipples. “And when we fuck, I don’t want us clocking in the numbers. I want it thorough and extensive. I want us to take our time.” She threaded her fingers between his and kissed his palm. “I miss that. I miss when things were slow between us and we didn't have to squeeze things in.”

“Time, huh?” Oberyn dropped beside her, a fist stacked under his chin. She turned on her side to face him. 

She nodded. She kissed him on the lips, her palm fluttering down his chest, flicking at a flat nipple. Then he suddenly shoved her on her back and kneed her legs apart. She gasped, laughing.

“I can take a later flight.”

“I have to be at work!”

“You’re the boss. You can be late.” He grinned at her and pressed himself against the warm niche between her legs. “And we are going to take our time, baby.”

For three months, Oberyn cut down on his travels. Brienne was touched that he did that, and ensured he enjoyed being grounded more often now. There was no avoiding his flying weekly but at least she didn’t only have him during the weekends. They had TV marathons, went shopping, cooked together. They went out with old friends, went to Margaery’s book reading that got them so hot they ended up fucking in the stockroom of the bookstore. 

It was three beautiful months. What made it even more was Oberyn broached the subject of starting a family. 

They were taking a stroll in the park one afternoon. A cool, autumn day, the trees were a rich explosion of varying shades of vermillion, the sky blue, and Brienne kept warm with Oberyn’s arm around her. They approached the swings and for some reason, Brienne’s attention was caught by a little girl with dark braids, small dimples framing her smile as her father helped her onto a swing. The father had dark hair and without having to look too closely, could pass for Oberyn. Nothing extraordinary was happening but Brienne’s heart raced at the idea of her own child and Oberyn as tender as the father helping his daughter on a swing. 

As Brienne set the table for their dinner and Oberyn took care of the salad, he remarked, “I saw you. Today.”

She glanced at him. “You saw me today doing what?”

He smiled and put more pepper. “You. Staring at the cute little girl.”

Brienne flushed and finished setting the table. She checked their wine rack for what could complement their meal. “Well, she is cute.”

She was choosing between a chardonnay and sauvignon blanc when Oberyn said, “Would you like one?”

“Hmm? What one?”

She turned and saw him staring at the ceiling, an amused smile on his face before he turned his dark eyes on her. 

“I’d like to see you grow with my baby, Brienne.” He said seriously. “If you want.”

She was grateful she wasn’t holding the wine bottles. Blinking at him in disbelief, she said, “Did you just. . .did you just say what I think you said?”

“You mean about my wanting to put my baby in you? Or how I want to fuck you seven ways to Sunday until you swell with my baby?” He smiled as she blushed at his crudity. “Indeed. Do you want to?”

She swallowed. “Do _you_ want to?”

“Very much. And only with you.”

Oberyn went to her and gazed at the wine bottles. “I guess tonight is the last time you’ll be having one of these.”

“You want to start tonight?” Brienne asked, shocked.

He slanted her a hot stare. “Why not?” He grabbed her by the waist and made her blush harder as he pressed his erection against her thigh. He kissed her hard on the mouth and she kissed him back just as hard. “I want a family _with you,_ Brienne. Don’t you want the same thing?”

“Yes.” She whispered, grabbing him back to kiss him again. “Yes, Oberyn. _Yes._ ”

They fucked every night that week. Some mornings too. It was exhausting and not in the best way all the time. Brienne was stiff from fucking Oberyn in awkward positions and even more awkward places. But she wanted a baby and she wanted him, and knowing he wanted the same thing got her heady with desire and very wet. 

Come Tuesday, Oberyn left for his weekly travels as regional director.

He returned on Saturday morning. Brienne was half-asleep as Oberyn pushed his tongue in her mouth and pulled her panties down. She wasn't very wet and it hurt a little but her legs opened to him, anyway and she whispered that she missed him. 

He left the next Tuesday.

Returned on Friday evening. They fucked on the couch, Brienne gritting her teeth at the cramps squeezing low in her belly. When he pushed his fingers in her cunt on Saturday night, he encountered the string of her tampon. "We've only just started," he told her, kissing her on the cheek and pulling his fingers out.

Another Tuesday saw him leave. He returned on Saturday night. Brienne was fast asleep already. He was too tired to fuck.

One month after Oberyn was back to his original flying schedule, Brienne was ducking and running as the sky pelted her with raindrops that grew bigger in size by the minute. She had just come from the loft of an artist that the museum was desperate to feature because of her dizzying, dramatic work that was visceral in yet-unscaled levels. Brienne never brought an umbrella and she cursed the rain as it finally exploded from the sky and began to drench the world below. Having no choice, she sought shelter in some random shop.  
She was fumbling for the clasp of her purse, needing to call work to say she was late coming back when somebody cleared his throat. Startled, her bag fell and out spilled its contents—her lipstick, keys, her cellphone, a roll of gum, a small packet of travel tissues. Her blue eyes widened in horror as the most beautiful man she had ever seen got down on one knee and reached for the item that had rolled closest to him—a strip of condoms gone stiff from having been stashed and ignored at the bottom of her purse for so long.

Warm, emerald eyes sparkled up at her. Still down on one knee and the strip of condoms in his hands, he spoke.

“I’m Jaime Lannister. What can I do for you?”


	2. Just A Bite

After rubbing the towel vigorously on her wet hair, Brienne straightened up and pulled it from her head. Her scalp was tingly and felt raw from where the rough, very dry towel had scrubbed the skin. She looked at the faded green towel with a mix of distaste and resignation before hanging it neatly on a hook behind the door. 

She stood in a stranger’s bathroom wet to her underwear from the sudden afternoon deluge. A pile of dry, warm clothes was folded over the edge of a tub that could use a good cleaning. 

The sky crashing down had knocked out power in the city and with it, phone service. Her phone showed no bars. Brienne pushed it back in her bag then stared at herself in the mirror again. Her white bra was almost translucent, clinging to her slight breasts and outlining the tight, dark pink bud of her nipples. She rubbed a palm down her flat stomach, which was still moist from rain. Her panties were no better—matched to her bra, it adhered to the bare slit of her cunt. She glanced at the clothes on the tub then at the door, where outside her suit was getting a spin the dryer. There was no choice. She could wear the clothes and suffer through clinging, wet underwear or just go bare. It would only be for an hour, at most. She’d die first before asking a complete stranger if he could loan her his briefs. 

Jaime Lannister. 

After stuffing her wet underthings in her bag, she got dressed, noting that his flannel shirt was a little tight on her shoulders, but grateful that she could button it closed without difficulty. Broad and mannish in shape, with an equally mannish height of six-foot-three, Brienne had never been able to find well-fitting clothes, nor had she once traipsed around in any of Oberyn’s, who stood an inch shy of six feet. She pushed her hair away from her face, bringing the worn fabric of the shirt to her breasts and she flinched, her cheeks suddenly hot pink. Get over it, she thought, realizing how strange and sensitive she was being. She put on the jeans next. Now they fit perfectly. 

Jaime told her he had a hair dryer behind the mirror and she found it there, along with his razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, deodorant, mouthwash, and a box of condoms—unopened. It was Durex, ultra thins. Like the ones in her purse. Brienne had them back there—no way was she disposing of the condoms here. There was something curious, though. She picked up the box, noting that yes, it was unopened but looked a little worn on the edges. The manufactured date told her it was from a year ago—but what did she know? She never looked at those dates, only the expiration.

She returned it, hoping it looked untouched, then took the hair dryer. Thanks to her short hair she was done quickly. She took her hairbrush and stroked it through the pale, straw-coloured strands, pinched her pale cheeks for colour. At least her blue eyes, a rare, brilliant, sapphire blue, looked clear and alert.

Now. For the hard part.

Brienne took a deep breath and pulled the door open—just as Jaime had raised his fist to knock. She blushed while he looked startled and quickly lowered his arm. 

Up close, Jaime Lannister was even more to take in. His features, carved and chiseled by a master artisan from ancient times, was a blow to her solar plexus. as she squinted at him through the raindrops clinging to her eyes and eyelashes. Up close, _this close_ , it was a miracle he didn't knock her right off her feet.

“I thought you’d drowned,” he joked, dimples flashing in spite of his small smile. “I made us tea.”

“I won’t be here for long.” Brienne pushed a lock of her hair from her forehead with her left hand. Jaime’s eyes caught the light of her wedding and engagement rings and he cocked an eyebrow.

“So you say. It’s still raining heavily,” he told her. She didn’t doubt him—they had to speak loudly over the sound of it. “Come on. You can Google me to check if I’d done anything bad. I’m a good guy but I leave it up to you to decide. There’s tea if you want it and I’ve built us a fire to get warm. We wouldn’t want to return you to your husband looking like a drowned white rat.”

He turned on his heel and strolled down the hallway, clearly leaving it up to her whether to follow him or lock herself in the bathroom. Brienne took her bag and grudgingly went after him.

With rain dripping down her eyes, she hadn’t been able to get a good look of the place she had tumbled to downstairs. Now she could see that the space was large. There were no room divisions except for the hallway she had just been in. Shelves crammed with books served as partitions. She followed Jaime to the living room where he had a small, red-bricked fireplace. He glanced at her as he sat down on a worn, _corduroy_ sofa and patted the spot next to him. Brienne decided to plunk down on faded armchair instead.

“Fine,” he remarked, not hiding his amusement at her choice. “Do you take milk or honey or both?”

“Just tea, thank you.” Brienne told him.

He had to stand up to give her the mug of tea still with the bag in it. She saw that he had a teaspoon in his and wondered if he’d added honey or milk. She held the warm mug in her hands as he took a sip from his.

“I didn’t put anything there except for hot water.” He told her, nodding at her untouched drink.

Her cheeks turning a darker pink, she mumbled, “Sorry,” and took a small, experimental sip. Sweetness exploded on her tongue and she coughed. “This is sweet.”

“Vanilla bourbon,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t like any of the traditional teas.”

“And still you put honey?”

He smirked. “Milk.”

Brienne was about to put her mug on the coffee table when she realized something. “May I borrow a coaster?”

“This isn’t Emily Post’s place,” he told her. “Just put it down there.”

“It’s going to leave a mark.”

“I don’t care. Put it down.”

Well, he said it. Brienne put the mug down and remained seated primly on the armchair. She kept her eyes on her lap as she felt his green gaze rake the tops of her hair, the freckles splashed across her throat. She met his stare and he didn’t even flinch or quickly look away. He met it head-on. Her heart leaped to her throat. 

“I was taught never to talk to strangers. Much less let them in to my house,” he drawled. “You’re drinking my tea, sitting on my chair, wearing my clothes—you look fucking fetching in them, by the way—and you know what deodorant I use. But I still don’t know your name.” 

“Brienne,” she said, her throat welling up. “Tarth. Brienne Tarth.” Then her eyes widened. “I mean, Martell. I’m Brienne Tarth-Martell.”

“Martell the guy at the other end of that?” He asked, nodding at her rings.

“Yes. He, uh, he’s expecting me for dinner.” She fibbed. "Dinner. At Craster Plaza."

“I’m sure he is." His green eyes warmed. "He’s got good taste.”

She put a hand over her rings protectively. “It’s his mother’s. An antique.”

He looked confused then grinned. “I’m not going to rob you, Brienne Tarth-Martell.” There was a mocking tilt in his voice as he uttered her hyphenated surname. He put his mug beside hers and leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms. He wore a green plaid shirt that brought out even more the sharp emeralds of his eyes and a white t-shirt underneath. He absolutely had no trace of fat anywhere on him—she could tell that it was his muscles moving fluidly under his jeans as he shifted to cross one ankle over a knee.

“There’s CCTV cameras in the streets so if you suddenly go missing, your husband can trace you to this place. And you’re too tall to be wrapped around my carpet—your long legs will stick out. You’re also no lightweight.”

“This is how you assure a woman you’re a good guy? Telling her how you can’t get rid of her dead body?”

“Who said you’d be dead when I roll you in my carpet? Maybe I plan to steal you away.” As she glared at him, he laughed and shook his head. “Sorry. My brother Tyrion tells me I’m shit at telling jokes. ”

“You sound crazy.” She looked around. “What was this building used before, if I may ask?”

“Possibly a factory of some sort. Huge space. Thick walls. There used to four other apartments on this floor until I bought them out, knocked down the walls to make them into one unit.” 

“You own the building?”

He laughed again. It was a cool, elegant sound that made her warm. “I don’t know if that makes me worse or better in your eyes.”

“You have a shop downstairs. What do you sell?”

“Old records.” He answered. When she continued looking at him, he said, quite defensively. “There’s a huge market for old vinyl records, you know.”

“I thought it was books,” Brienne explained. “You have a lot. Rare hardbounds, from the look of them.”

“I’m also a book dealer on the side but I’ve concentrated more on the record shop in the last five years. My brother Tyrion’s wife died. I didn’t want to travel so much and he needed me, as does my niece.” He tilted his head and looked at her as if running a silent question in his mind. “What do you like listening to?”

“Music?”

“No, I meant crickets. Of course, music.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

Jaime actually looked grave. “Rihanna?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “But women your age are strangely into that kind of music.”

“Women my age?” Brienne cocked a pale blond eyebrow. “How old do you think I am?”

“Your eyes?” He frowned. “Hard to tell. Old. You’ve seen a lot. The rest of you? I don’t know. Twenty-nine. Thirty-three.”

She frowned at him. “I’m thirty.”

“I’m safe, then.”

“You guessed that I’m older.”

“I also pegged you as younger. Why do women get so pissed off when somebody thinks them older? I like fucking older women much better than younger ones. They’re sure about what they want and don’t have so many hang-ups. At least, it’s not hang-ups involving haircuts or being five pounds overweight.” Jaime snorted in derision. “You know what’s great about fucking an older woman?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only fucked my husband.”

It was something Brienne never told anyone—not even Margaery. She covered her mouth while Jaime gave her a hard look then continued, as if she hadn’t dropped some bombshell, “Fucking an older woman gives you an education on _a lot_ important things. After books and putting yourself out there, fucking an older woman makes you smarter.” He tapped his blond head with a finger. “At least, have a better insight on things.”

Brienne reached for her tea and took another sip. It wasn’t so sweet now. “Well. You have a ways to go, Jaime Lannister.”

“Is fucking an older man the same for women?” 

The warmth from the fire and her drink were making her blush, she was sure. “To get an education? No. We fuck older men because they know how to fuck us well. And older men fuck younger women because their tits are firm and their cunts are waxed and they don’t want babies.” She gulped down her tea. 

“Come on, now, Brienne. Those can’t be the only reasons your husband fucks you.”

"We have love. What are your reasons?"

"Her full bush. Waxed cunts are good for when you're lazy or simply not up for the challenge of clit play. I like to be challenged." He bit his lower lip as she squirmed in her seat.

“Can we change the subject?” She snapped. “This is making me uncomfortable.” _Never_ had she talked to anyone like this. She could barely handle Oberyn's occasional dirty talk.

“Apologies.” This time, she thought he sounded like he meant it. He watched her put the empty mug on the table. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you like listening to?”

“I’m terribly old-fashioned,” Brienne confessed, relieved he listened to her. “I love Saint-Saens. I listen to him when preparing breakfast for Oberyn—my husband. He doesn’t like it. For songs, I listen to Edith Piaf and Cole Porter. Especially Cole Porter.”

“So that’s what you are,” Jaime told her after a few seconds of quiet. “You truly believe in love.”

“Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?”

Suddenly, he stood up. He picked up their mugs. “The rains have stopped. I’ll check if your clothes are dry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.I miss NCW's green plaid shirt.
> 
> 2\. Love that he said in an interview that if Jaime were mundane, he'd listen to Rihanna.
> 
> 3\. I CAN'T STAND RIHANNA. LIKE, IF YOU WANT TO TORTURE ME, FORCE ME TO LISTEN TO HER "MUSIC."


	3. More

Four months later

“You’ve outdone yourself, dear,” declared Selwyn Tarth, patting his lips with a cloth napkin before setting it down the table. His bright blue eyes twinkled at his daughter. “What a delicious meal.”

Brienne smiled happily. “Thanks, Dad.”

“She’s been buying ingredients all week to make your favorites,” Oberyn told Selwyn as he sliced a portion of the lamb on his plate. “I don’t believe she’s done anything like this for me before,” he added, shooting Brienne a playful grin.

“Come home often and she will!” Selwyn exclaimed. He dug in his food, unaware of the sudden stiffening of Brienne’s spine and the small frown on Oberyn’s face.

“What have you been telling your father?” Oberyn asked Brienne later.

Selwyn had retired, pleading that at his old age he needed as much sleep as a lazy household cat. Brienne and Oberyn cleaned up in the kitchen in silence. Oberyn was the first to leave. He was showered and reading in bed when Brienne made it to their bedroom. She glanced at her husband expectantly but he flipped a page. She decided to shower.

Clad only in the warm droplets of water clinging to her skin and a towel, Brienne stood just outside the door of their bathroom when Oberyn posed the question. He removed his reading glasses and looked at her.

“We were just talking, Oberyn,” she said, tightening the towel around herself before going to the dresser for some clothes.

“You must have mentioned my absence enough for him to point it out,” he persisted.

“I wouldn’t have to if it wasn’t true.” Brienne slipped on a t-shirt with sharp, brisk movements. She stepped into an old pair of shorts next. Done, she removed the towel and went to the bathroom to hang it.

Oberyn was looking at her with an arched expression when she returned to their room. Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed. “I don’t want to fight. What do we have to fight about?”

“I don’t want to fight either. But whatever it is you tell your father shouldn’t you tell me first?”

“I always tell you. What’s happened? Nothing.” Brienne crossed her arms and looked at him.

Oberyn let out a sigh. “Fuck this, Brienne.”

“If we’re going to start a family I need you to be around more.” 

“Of course. You need me to fuck you,” he muttered, putting his book away. 

Though hating the turn of their conversation, she growled, “For starters. Do you know how many times you’ve touched me in the past month? Guess. Come on. Guess.”

Oberyn glared at her. “You measure my absence by the frequency of my cock in you?”

“We didn’t fuck. At all. Nor the month before that. Or the month before that. The last time you fucked me happened so quickly I’d have forgotten if it wasn’t. . .you were all over my dress.” Brienne cursed the embarrassed blush that flared on her face. “I had to take it to cleaners because I couldn’t just wash it off.”

“Look, my only point is if you’re upset with me why do you tell your father? Why not me? I call, don’t I?”

“You call between meetings, just when you’re about to board. Tell me, how do we have a conversation when it’s like that?” Brienne sank on a chair facing the bed and tilted her head. “I try to tell you and you brush it off because you have to go. You always have to go,” she muttered but Oberyn heard her.

“You think I like it when I do?” He asked her softly.

She gave him a withering look. “I thought you listened when I told you. What’s happened since? We’re right back where we were.” It was a painful thing to say, and Oberyn’s flinch told her he felt the same. “We can’t start a family like this. I can’t be the only one raising a child.”  
Oberyn pushed the sheets away and climbed off the bed. He went to her then sank on his knees before her. The frown remained on Brienne’s face as she regarded him, unmoved by his puppy dog eyes. 

“Brienne, I don’t like this any more than you do but you should know that I want things to change too. I don’t like being away from you.” 

He reached for her hand and drew it to his heart. “But this is the way things are. For the moment. It’s not going to be like this forever.”  
As he spoke, he kissed her hand then dropped more around her knees and her thighs. She remained stiff and unaffected the entire time.  
“Until when?”

“Hmm?”

“Until when, Oberyn? I want a family. Give me a deadline.”

“Come on, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Then what? I just wait? When will you decide to be home more?”

“I promise,” he said, sliding her hands under her hips and drawing her toward him. “This is not forever.”

“Oberyn---“ she protested as he nuzzled her inner thighs and kissed her cunt through her shorts. Despite her anger, there came the familiar flutter of flames in and around her cunt. Against her better judgement, she pulled his head closer.

“I missed my wife,” he murmured, raising his black eyes to he as he gripped the edges of her shorts and started dragging it down her freckled thighs then down her legs. “I don’t like being away from my wife.”

He hunched his head forward and gave a deep swipe of her cunt with his tongue. He smiled at the soft, thin cluster of curls beginning to grow around her cunt. “I don’t fuck you for months and you let yourself go?”

“You deserve the challenge,” she retorted as he spread her legs wide. 

“Baby, I might get lost in this forest,” he teased, nibbling her inner thighs.

“Forest my foot. There’s hardly any hair down there.” Brienne snapped, red and hot because it bothered her that he was teasing her about maintenance, of all things. A memory flickered in her mind. She couldn’t really catch it but it made her flushed and breathless. Something about fucking and cunts and challenges. She couldn’t exactly string them together. “Now stop talking and just fuck me.”

He smiled. “You’ve never been so bold before.”

“I haven’t had cock in months. Fuck me.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you being so commanding,” he said.

“It will feel like a very uncomfortable night on the couch if you don’t fuck me.” 

“Well,” Oberyn returned his lips to her cunt and kissed it. “I certainly don’t want that.”

“No,” she moaned, closing her eyes as he unleashed a hot storm of kisses. “No, we don’t.” 

 

“You don’t have to come with me, Brienne,” Selwyn told her the next day as they took a stroll. “I may be old and my knees are not so great but I can still get myself around the city.”

“I don’t doubt that, Dad,” she said, smiling at him. “But I missed you. Can I help it if I want to spend the day with my Dad?”

Father and daughter were strikingly tall. Selwyn was six-foot-seven and Brienne six-foot-three. Both had pale, blond hair though Selwyn’s had gone white with age. They also shared brilliant blue eyes and broad, muscular forms. Selwyn was prone to flush red even under the gentles glare of the sun but he didn’t share his daughter’s freckles. 

Having fucked Oberyn at last, Brienne woke up this morning refreshed and not as wound tightly. She had looked at Oberyn’s sleeping face and thought herself more in love with her husband than before. He won’t be leaving today and she longed for a morning fuck as they used to. But with her father prowling around the house, she had to get up and prepare breakfast.

Since it was the weekend, Brienne didn’t have to go the museum though it would be open until early afternoon. She and Oberyn proposed activities and events around the city that Selwyn might be interested in but all he wanted, it turned out, was to meet with his book dealer.  
“I’ve started collecting first editions of early twentieth century fiction last year,” he told them. “Now that I’m retired and with a bad knee, I have all the time in the world to read and collect.”

A plan was formed then. Brienne would take him to his book dealer and then they’d meet Oberyn for lunch. 

Brienne popped in Oberyn’s study to say goodbye. He turned away from the computer and grinned at her. “You look fantastic.”

“Really?” Brienne looked down at herself. She wore a short-sleeved, navy dress with a peter pan collar and black flats. It was an old, unremarkable dress but it fit her well so she felt good when wearing it. She supposed that was the reason behind Oberyn’s compliment. Being relaxed in the dress made her radiate from within.

“Yeah,” he said, walking around the desk to walk toward her. He wrapped an arm around her waist while the other climbed to her shoulders and urged her to lower her head. 

Their kiss was soft and light—at least, that was how Brienne did it. Oberyn hummed in complaint against her lips. “You can do better than that,” he teased her, laughing. 

“We can’t keep my father waiting—oh, gods, don’t!” Brienne groaned as his hand snuck under her skirt and palmed her. Oberyn grabbed her for another kiss, his tongue easily sliding between her lips as he continued to stroke her between the legs. 

“Hmm. You’ve shaved,” he whispered.

“You wouldn’t shut up,” she reminded him. 

Blushing, she pushed him away and Oberyn groaned but he did step away from her. “I’ll see you at lunch,” she told him, fixing her dress and hair.

“How far is this place?” Brienne asked Selwyn now as they walked. “This is quite the walk, even for me.” 

“I’m sorry, dear, but it’s a little out of the way. Only determined collectors know of it,” Selwyn told her with a wink. 

“What’s it called?”

“Let’s see, um. . .Castle—no, Casterly Company.”

“Your book dealer owns a company?”

Selwyn dug out his wallet and withdrew a business card. Brienne took it. It was white with crimson font. All it said was Casterly Company, Books and Records. There was a number below.

“I suppose. I’ve never been. He was recommended by Galladon,” he said, referring to his gold buddy and best friend. “Gal’s been collecting longer so he knows these things. Told me to check it out myself. I made some calls and my dealer’s managed to procure me a full-color, hand-illustrated edition of The Great Gatsby.”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve come across one ever.”

“See? Oh, I’m so excited that you’re coming with me.”

“Well, are we anywhere close? Dad, we’ve been walking for close to twenty blocks already.” 

“Bah. This is nothing.”

“I vote that we take a cab.”

“Oh, where’s your sense of adventure, daughter?”

“Dad, we’re taking a cab. I suppose you know the address?”

“Of course, I do.”

So they hopped in a cab, Selwyn giving a downtown address. When they arrived there, Selwyn’s head was hanging out of the window like an eager dog while Brienne was digging out her wallet to pay the driver. Selwyn stepped out first and before helping her out.

Brienne frowned. The shop was open but the windows were dusty and smeared with the grime of the city—and looked to be stuck with it. But Selwyn went ahead of her, like a little boy let loose in the toy store. She followed him, giving the shop a quick look before she pulled her phone out of her bag.

The floor was old woodboards that groaned and squeaked every time someone walked on them. Brienne thought it wise to stay near the door while her father looked for his dealer. Phone against her ear, she gave an antique gramophone an absent caress as she waited for Oberyn to pick up. When he did, she told him where they were and that they would be late. 

“Take your time,” he told her. “I’m still not done with the contracts.”

“You can’t be working on a weekend!” Brienne admonished him.

“I’m working now so that I won’t have to leave next week.”

Stunned at his news, Brienne could only stare at the phone.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?”’ The smile was evident in Oberyn’s voice. “See, I listen. All you have to do is talk to me, Brienne.”

“That means a lot,” Brienne told him, feeling her heart full. She nodded. “Okay. I’m, ah, um, we’ll see you for lunch.”

She put the phone back in her bag and straightened up.

“Well, hello, there,” drawled a familiar, silky voice. She whirled around, her eyes widening at the god-like male specimen grinning at her. What the actual fuck? She thought. It was bloody unfair that someone looked that good in a faded shirt and ripped jeans. It was everything wrong in the world, damn it.

Emerald eyes raking her from head to toe in a way that made her blush. Her heart kicked in her chest.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jaime told her. He actually sounded pleased. “But better late than never.”


	4. For You

Brienne absently fingered through the stacks of records, pausing every now and then to look at an album cover from her youth then moving on to the next. 

She looked around. The shop had a wide, open space that was unfortunately obscured by poor lighting and the grime from windows. It was divided into three sections—one for the bookstore, of which random volumes were placed on shelves, then the cash register, and then the record shop. This was the biggest area and the collections it housed was nothing short of impressive. Brienne knew little about rare album editions but what she’d seen so far told her Jaime Lannister knew what he was selling. She hadn’t seen nor heard of them and deduced that only the passionate and very discerning music lover would come here.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Selwyn and Jaime going over the Great Gatsby novel he had come here for. She smiled at the way her father’s face lit up at explaining to Jaime his delight in getting to read the classics without professors breathing down his neck. Jaime’s response was nothing but enthusiastic. From their conversation, he also loved early twentieth century fiction. Selwyn complained, however, that many contemporary writers were more focused on experimentation than telling a story. Jaime countered that the experimentation was integral to the telling of the story but he understood his misgivings. 

“Brienne, dear,” Selwyn suddenly called to her. “Would you mind terribly if we look around some more?”

“No worries, I told Oberyn we’ll be late."

She moved to the next stack of records. As she idly went through them, she felt someone standing next to her. She glanced at her side and saw Jaime.

Despite his faded shirt and ripped jeans, there was an elegance to the man, she noticed. It was a rare ability, to be both scruffy and elegant at the same time. You certainly wouldn’t think he hadn’t had a shower in days, in spite of appearances, she thought. Her nose caught the scent of soap and aftershave that she was sure he didn’t buy from the drug store. 

Now that she didn’t have rain in her eyes and she wasn’t hunched from the weight of her soaked clothes, she could clearly see him. First, he was tall. Not taller than her, but shorter by a very small margin because his emerald eyes were looking right at her and he wasn’t angling his head up to do it. In the light of the sunlight streaming through the windows and the door, his blond hair looked like rich, spun gold. His shoulders were broad, the arms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt displaying lean muscle. It was easy to imagine Jaime Lannister doing his bench presses yet also having no guilt in indulging in a Snickers bar. Or two. 

“How are you?” He asked.

“I’m dry for once,” she answered. Clearing her throat, she turned to him, flushing with the way he was looking at her—as if measuring her for some criteria. She looked into his eyes and said, “I wanted to thank you. For that day.”

“No thanks necessary. I’d have done it for anyone else.”

She knew he meant nothing by it but it stung.

“I, ah, I meant to send you something,” she stammered. “But I couldn’t remember the place and it didn’t occur to me to ask the cab until it was too late.” Jaime had been the one to call the cab for her.

“Like I said, there’s no need to thank me. I actually wanted to apologize.” Jaime explained. She looked at him in confusion. “I thought about calling since I knew who you were but you were unlisted and while I wasn’t expecting thanks, I do hoped to hear from you. When I didn’t, I figured you were still pissed.”

“What would I be angry about?” 

He smirked. “Come on, Brienne. You were clearly bothered with my talk about fucking older women.”

Stunned, she snapped, “Did you think I was _jealous?_ ”

“No,” he said easily. “Believe me, it’s not something I talk about at all. But your question’s curious. Were _you_ jealous?”

“Of course not.” She retorted quickly. She looked aghast. “I’m married.”

“Well, I am sorry.” He repeated. “It was inappropriate. Especially to a lady such as yourself.”

Brienne shrugged and turned her attention back to the records. “I don’t have delicate sensibilities, Jaime, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I can talk about fucking and cunts if I have to.”

She looked at him again and caught him staring at her. She scowled. _“What?”_

He seemed to snap out of a trance. “Nothing. So, can I interest you in anything? I have Cole Porter.”

“I don’t have a turntable,” she said. “So I won’t be able to listen.”

“I do have CDs. But I don’t expect you to buy,” he said, sounding irritated to her ears. “At least listen,” he told her. “After the way I talked to you, I think you should listen to Cole Porter.”

Brienne looked past his shoulder to see Selwyn squatting down to get a book. Jaime followed her glance then turned back to her. “I won’t keep you long.” 

She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. But she said, “Alright. Lead me to Cole Porter.”

On their way to the listening booth, she told Selwyn where they were going. She grinned at his nod and went on to follow Jaime.

“You know this song,” Jaime told her as they entered a glass-encased, soundproof booth that looked out to the entire store. Brienne watched as he fingered through a stack of records in a box. “These just came in.”

“They look old.”

“Salvaged them from disposal at a garage sale.” Jaime shuddered. “The owner sold them all for five dollars. In their condition—and they’re all working, by the way—it’s more than a bargain. It never fails to shock me how quickly people discard things just because they’re old.” 

“Well,” Brienne said without thinking, “you did say you like fucking older women.”

Oh my gods, she thought, horrified, quickly scrambling to form an apology. Instead, he chuckled and shrugged. “For the record, by older I don’t mean anyone creaky or with joint problems, come on. Give me some credit, Brienne.” His voice softened at her name but she was only imagining it, that’s for sure.

She noted the tenderness in his hands as he slid the record out of its jacket, then the plastic. Jaime had flat, wide palms, long elegant fingers, trimmed fingernails. He put the record on the turntable pad then held out a pair of giant headphones to her. Brienne slipped them on.

“Wait, your hair’s caught,” Jaime said.

If she wasn’t mistaken, his hands were even more gentle in sliding the headphones off her. His fingers tucking her short hair behind her ears, lightly touching the ridge that connected them to her head, drew her to take a deep breath, chest rising sharply. Her cheeks pinked but Jaime didn’t appear to notice, his motions suddenly brisk and business-like as he put the headphones back on her. Then he reached for the needle of the turntable.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Noting her flushed skin, he smiled, playful and mocking at the same time. “I’m just asking you to listen, Brienne.”

“It’s hot in here,” she shot back.

“You’re too buttoned-up. You look like you’re wearing a school uniform,” he retorted and put the needle on the record. She scowled at him and he smirked in return. She sighed and watched his hands. 

“I’ve never heard Cole Porter from a record.”

Jaime looked at her and grinned. “I’ve never had a virgin here.”

As a hot, red-pink blush spread from her face down to her chest, the playful notes of a piano hit her ears. Brienne quickly forgot her discomfort as she recognized them. Oh, yes. She knew this song. It was her favorite.

_“When the little blue bird, who has never said a word,  
Starts to sing, `Spring!’ `Spring!’  
When the little bluebell at the bottom of the dell,  
Starts to ring, `Ding!’ `Ding!’  
When the little blue clerk  
In the middle of his work   
Starts a tune to the moon up above _

_It is nature that is all_

_Simply telling us to fall in love.”*_

 

Jaime took pleasure at the obvious, blushing pleasure Brienne took from listening to the song. He laughed as she bobbed her head, and found himself both tensed and teased at the same time as she sang along some of the lyrics. Brienne was smiling the entire time, a warm but shy smile that lit up the dreariness of the listening booth. Her sapphire eyes glinted and the pinkness in her cheeks almost made her lovely. It was hard to look away but the song came to an end—he knew because she started removing the headphones.

“Thank you. I love that song. It’s my favorite Cole Porter.”

“Good that I got lucky,” Jaime told her, shooting a quick grin before putting the record back in its case.

“I particularly love that line about educated fleas. I love it, it always makes me laugh,” Brienne admitted. “And how the entire song just goes on and on about how we should just fall in love.”

“Which is a lot easier said than done,” he said, opening the door and gesturing that she precede him.

“Why do people always say that?” Brienne wondered out loud, breathing in the mustiness of the store as she looked at him. “Love is never difficult.”

“Love and falling in love are two different animals, Brienne,” Jaime answered. “Falling in love is easy. But choosing to still love a person? That’s when things go to shit.”

Brienne crossed her arms. “This is new. You’re saying that you choose to love someone? I disagree. We don’t get to choose who we love.”   
There was no mistaking the challenge in her voice.

“Spoken like a true romantic.” His voice was sarcastic.

“Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?” 

“Oh come on, it doesn’t bother you? You have no choice. That’s the reason why I don’t believe in soulmates either. All that destiny and fate stuff—what’s the point of living if you’re just going to end up someplace, or with someone, no matter what?” 

“So what you’re saying is you’d much rather that someone chooses you—chooses to love you?”

“Now that,” he said, and startling her with an affection tweak of her nose, “is romantic.”

Brienne continued to look confused despite his gesture. Jaime leaned against one of the posts and asked, “You think you just fell head over heels in love with—what’s your husband’s name?”

“Oberyn. And yes. I did.” Brienne rifled through some stacks. “He was my dorm’s RA when I was a freshman. He really looked out for me. I’m not from around here. I had a crush on him from day one.”

“Hmm. He was your knight in shining armour. It was love at first sight,” he mocked.

“You shouldn’t castigate people for whom love came easy.”

“A crush isn’t love. A romance, maybe, but it’s definitely not love.”

She put one hand on her hip and regarded him. “We’re really going to fight about this?”

“We’re not fighting, wench. We’re having a conversation.”

She frowned. “What did you just call me?”

He grinned, knowing he’d riled her up. He strode toward her until they were practically nose-to-nose. _“Wench.”_

He made something so inappropriate sound deliciously sinful.

“That is so politically incorrect.”

“You’re tying its connotation to something archaic but wench is just really a girl,” he said and gave her a once-over that was the equivalent of being licked by a flame. “Or a young woman.”

Unbelievably, her nipples tightened. “I’m thirty," she said hotly.

He shrugged. “That’s young.”

Brienne snorted and returned to rummaging absently through the records. “Well. You did say you fuck older women.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my preference for what is the equivalent of very fine wine,” Jaime said, standing beside her. He leaned on the shelf, turning to her on his side. “Does my preference bother you?”

“Of course not. It’s none of my business.” She growled. "And you brought them up first earlier. Not me."

“You know, you’ve never tried guessing my age.”

“That’s because I’m not interested.” 

“It never crossed your mind? Let’s have it. Tell me. How old do you think I am?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. You dress like a grunge musician banging drums in his mother’s garage but you’re at least twice that age.”

“Hey, now. Don’t be cruel.” But his eyes were sparkling. “Come on,” he asked in a low voice, the timber stroking her ears. “Guess.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “Forty. Maybe forty-five.”

“What the hell makes you think I’m forty?” He demanded.

“I’m not good with guessing people’s ages.”

Jaime sighed. “I’m thirty-seven.”

“Oh.” Brienne was apologetic. Her eyes were huge, nearly overtaking half her face.“Yikes. I’m sorry. But I really am. Terrible. With ages.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“Really sorry?”

She crossed her arms. “If you think I’m going to get down on my knees to apologize you’re making a very big mistake, Jaime.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Her eyes narrowed into slits. 

Brienne was thinking between storming away or decking him when Selwyn approached with a small stack of books in his hands. Jaime quickly relieved him of those and, grinning at her, led her father toward the cash register. She trudged after them, confused, annoyed, and swimming in an ocean of feelings that she couldn’t put a name to, only that something had happened, or was happening. What it was, she couldn’t answer.

As Jaime wrapped up Selwyn’s purchases, he told them, “Hey, if you guys are free on Thursday we have acoustic night. Local bands perform hits and their own songs here. It starts at nine p.m. and there’s free beer.” 

Exactly the thing Oberyn couldn’t stand, Brienne thought. He had a nickname for such groups: “Trippy Granolas.” As she opened her mouth to decline, Selwyn spoke up.

“You should make IT a date night with Oberyn, dear.” He told her. To Jaime, he said, “I’m just visiting and will be gone by then. But maybe next time I’m here?”

“Sure thing, Selwyn. So, Brienne. Can I count on you?” Jaime asked.

“Oberyn’s out of town,” she pointed out. 

“So just bring yourself.”

“You need to get out more even when Oberyn’s not around,” Selwyn told her. As Brienne started to protest, he said to Jaime, “She’ll be there.”

“Dad, I—“

“Dear, it’s music and free beer. Live a little.” Selwyn whispered to Jaime conspiratorially. “My daughter’s very serious, unfortunately.”

"Hey, Dad, that's not--"

Jaime grinned. “I’ll help her loosen up.”

“I can be loose if I want to.” Brienne snapped. “I just don’t need alcohol to do it.”

“Okay. Skip the alcohol. Come for the music.” Jaime told her. “Come for me. I popped your record cherry. Now I’m collecting a debt.”

Cornered, Brienne glared at him then at her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*Let's Do It/ Song and lyrics by Cole Porter_
> 
> Yep. Brienne uses Jaime's famous line on him.


	5. A Bitter Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time jumps ahead but we're not at the present yet.

Three months later

With a long, loud moan, Brienne tightened her legs around Oberyn’s waist and came. He followed right away, slumping heavily on her chest and panting roughly. She gasped, her chest still too tight from her exertions. Her breath stirred the dark hairs at the top of his head. A tired hum slid from her lips as he kissed her around the throat and the cheek before rolling off her.

“That was some welcome,” Oberyn whispered in her ear as he drew the blankets over them. Brienne shifted and turned on her side, smiling at him as he relaxed on his back on the pillows. He took in her sleepy eyes, the pink flush that remained on her skin, her neck and chest gleaming with sweat. “You really missed me.”

“And you didn’t miss me at all?” She retorted, getting herself comfortable.

“I missed you a lot. I won’t be going away for that long ever again,” Oberyn said, caressing her cheek. “I can do with two weeks, three weeks. But not for nearly two months.”

Their kiss was long, urgent but without their usual rush. Oberyn drew away and settled back on the bed and Brienne sank down as well. Her fingers mapped random circles on his smooth, tanned chest. 

“Oberyn, remember over the phone,” she began, scooting closer to him. “How there was something I couldn’t tell you? That it had to be in person?”

Oberyn’s whose eyes had closed, grunted, “Hmm? Yes. I remember.”

She grinned. “Did you not wonder what it was?”

As she spoke, she kissed his chest, his throat, slowly got on top of him. She had to be ginger about it due to the big difference in their height and weight. He opened his eyes and looked at her. 

“What is it?”

“Guess.” She prodded him.

“Baby, I’ve not slept in this bed too long, have not fucked you far longer. Don’t be cruel and let this man sleep, will you?”

She giggled. “Not until you guess.”

“Alright.” Oberyn was clearly annoyed but he was going to indulge her. Brienne was grateful. “You had the driveway re-paved.”

“What? No.” She lowered her head and nipped his collarbone.

“A bigger museum wishes to pirate you and promises to give you everything you want.”

“No. I wish. But what I have is something better. Lots better.” Brienne kissed him on the lips and sat back. “Remember what we did, just a few weeks before you left?”

“We did a lot of things, baby.”

“No. Something only we do.” 

Oberyn sighed and looked at her. He grinned. “We fucked. You were wearing that navy dress. I fucked you on my desk and you were wet. That was memorable, huh?”

“Yes. What do you think happened because we fucked?”

Oberyn yawned and she slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, guess!”

“Why don’ you just tell me so that we can sleep. Baby, I’m really tired. And you’re crushing me.”

“Oh.” Brienne quickly slid off him and lay down. Her cheeks warm, she nudged him for his eyes were closed again. “Guess!”

He groaned and sighed loudly. “I give up. What is it?”

Biting her lip, she announced, “I’m pregnant.”

 

Since having her pregnancy confirmed, Brienne had lavished only love and smiles to the life growing inside her. She quit caffeine and sweets, made sure she never stayed out late and was religious with her vitamins. Margaery remarked that she was blooming, and had never seen her best friend so happy. She was excited for Brienne, and had been the first to give a gift—a blue-and-white booties she had knitted herself. This found a permanent place on Brienne’s desk at work, and whenever her eyes fell on it, a warm surge of joy swept through her once again.

There was plenty to be happy about aside from the baby. The museum would be hosting an exhibit of the artist Brienne had discovered, Asha Greyjoy. Her art bore vicious sensuality that was not for the faint of heart yet once setting eyes on it, it was hard to look away. Brienne was in charge and she kept the art world tensed and excited by making it an exclusive, by-invitation only event. Of course the art editor of Westeros Daily Times was invited but the rest had to wrangle and call in favours. Brienne loved every singled minute of it, practically cooing on the phone as she rubbed the small bump of her belly and chewed carrots. Despite her morning sickness, Brienne’s eyes bore a new, silvery light. She was no beauty but radiating with the happiness she did, she was almost one.

Another reason for happiness was the new friend she had made—Jaime Lannister. It took a while for her to realize that his tendency for sharp words and even sharper conversation was armour for a man who had been seriously hurt in the past. He revealed it the night he first invited her to that acoustic performance at his store. It went on until late in the night continued with more drinks in a bar two blocks away. Brienne was glad that he caught on that getting blasted was not to her taste and took her to a twenty-four-hour coffee shop. There, they talked until three in the morning, much to their surprise.

“How is it that I’ve told you stuff I’ve never told anyone—not even my brother?” He asked as she wrapped her hands around her freshly-refilled mug. His question was not reproachful—it was curious, and with a beautiful smile. 

“Maybe no one has really listened to you before,” Brienne told him. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“You spent more time listening to me prattle than tell me anything.”

“There’s not much to know,” she shrugged. “My mom died when i was young. I grew up with my Dad in Tarth. I went to college here. Fell in love with the first boy who was nice to me and married him as soon as I graduated. What else is there to tell?”

“You’d be surprised with what I want to know.”

“I’m afraid I’ll just disappoint you.”

“Never.” Jaime said firmly. “Strange but I’m sure about you. I don’t think I’ve felt that about anyone before.”

Since that night (or morning) they saw each other often. In Jaime was a friendship that felt as comfortable and as easy as she had with Margaery—who was her roommate in college, though he would never dethrone the latter from her best friend status. Brienne teased him for being often cranky, frowned at him when he got too snarky, counselled him patience, and above all, gave him the truth like no one had done before. She could understand why people would hesitate. Jaime Lannister was a strong, captivating presence that burned the brightest in any room. People were easily in awe of him and scrambled to please him. Not her. 

He had been there when the first signs of her pregnancy began. Upon arriving at his shop, his assistant, a friendly, pretty brunette named Pia, offered her one of the special tuna sandwiches she’d made. Brienne has been starving all day despite a full breakfast so she gratefully took one. One whiff of the sandwich had her stomach flipping and the next thing she knew, she was throwing up right on the wooden floorboards of Casterly Company. Her horror and embarrassment were still in the fringes of her mind when Jaime swept her to his apartment upstairs to get her cleaned up. 

Brienne was thinking this as she sat behind her desk in Stark Museum and Gallery, where she worked. For lunch, she usually went out but she was meeting Jaime, who had insisted on going to her with takeout. 

“This is the list of people demanding an invitation, Brienne,” her assistant, a soft-spoken but very dependable young man named Podrick Payne told her as they went over the Excel sheet together.

“Demanding, are they?” She mused, running a pencil down a long list of names. “Okay, let’s give one to him, him as well, her, yes, also her, not this one, oh, fuck, not him, he’s a poseur. This. . .” she frowned and glanced at Podrick. “What’s your opinion on hipsters?”

Podrick made a face. “If they’re buying, fine. If not, we keep them out.”

“But hipsters are the ones who talk and brag. Hmm. These two characters, yes. Not them. You're right, though. Let's make sure this doesn't turn out to be hipster event, the gods willing.” Brienne checked the names she approved of and crossed out the ones she didn’t like. “Send the invites after lunch, Pod. Go on and take a break. Let’s torture them some more.”

Podrick smiled and took the sheets. “Okay, Brienne. Do you want me to get anything for you?”

“No, it’s fine. Jaime’s coming over.”

He knew Jaime. “Okay then. See you after lunch.”

Brienne was frowning over the budget for the event when someone knocked on her door. She looked up and saw Jaime letting himself in, a huge paper bag in his hands. “Stop working,” he ordered her, striding to her desk and putting the bag there. “You have to eat.”

“I couldn’t eat because I was waiting for you. Whatcha got there?” She asked, standing up to dig into the bag. Jaime slapped her hands away.

“Ouch! You just hit a pregnant woman, you know.” She said, retracting her hands.

“Sorry. Go on, sit down.” Jaime told her, pulling out packages from the bag. “So. We know you can’t have sushi—“

“Damn it. I _love_ sushi.”

“Not happening, wench—“

“My name,” she snapped, her eyes fiery, “is Brienne.”

“If you say so.” Jaime acquiesced then winked. “ _Wench._ So raw fish of any kind is out. All fish for that matter You’re a little sensitive to chicken. I can’t have you just eating salads,” he said, putting a plastic dish on her desk.

“You’d be so cruel if you did.”

“But you need your vegetables. Dressing is on the side, only vinaigrette. So, that’s for the healthy part of your lunch. The best part—“

Brienne clapped her hands as he pulled out a big box from the bag. She sniffed appreciatively. “Oh, gods. Is that what I think it is?”

Jaime grinned and pushed it toward her. “Good ol’ cheeseburger with everything on it. The thickest beef. Juiciest tomatoes. Onion rings. The works.”

“Oh gods,” Brienne groaned as popped open the lid and saw the cheeseburger. She pretended tears. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He laughed and pulled out two bottles of mineral water then another package box—cheeseburger for himself too. And a last one—cherry pie. 

For a few minutes, they only made hungry, satisfied sounds as they ate. Brienne licked her fingers appreciatively, closing her eyes. Jaime sat back and watched her. Since becoming pregnant, watching her eat had become a source of pleasure for him. She didn’t attack the food but she ate with a gusto that was rare. But there was hardly anything that Brienne didn’t take pleasure in, he thought. She gave one hundred ten percent and was the happiest to do so. And someone who did it with such astonishing eyes, in a silk blouse, someone so giving and open—even rarer.

“I told Oberyn,” she said, breaking the spell. She took a tissue paper to wipe the grease from the corner of her lips. Jaime continued eating his food.

“Yeah? How’d he take it?”

Oberyn had kissed her and fucked her again then fell asleep. This morning, he was more demonstrative, calling her “Mommy” and kissing her stomach.

“He’s excited,” she said. 

“He should be. A child is a gift,” Jaime remarked.

“You guys should meet sometime,” Brienne suddenly said. “I think you’ll like each other. And Oberyn won’t be going away for a while. Which reminds me.” Setting her burger aside, she opened a drawer and pulled out a gold and black invitation. She handed it to Jaime, who licked his fingers clean so he wouldn’t get grease on the fancy paper.

“I’m launching a new artist—Asha Greyjoy. It’s turning out to be the event of the art world this year. I hope you can come.” Brienne said, her voice soft. “Please?”

Jaime glanced at the date. “That’s when it will be? In two weeks?”

“Why, you can’t make it?” She did not disguise the disappointment in her voice.

He looked at her. “I’ll try.”

“Please, Jaime? I’d love for you to be there. Please come. For me?” Brienne asked earnestly. “I know this isn’t your usual crowd but it would mean so much to me if you’re there. Margaery and Renly will be there too, and my husband. Please. Come for me?” 

 

The morning of Asha Greyjoy’s show, Brienne woke up tired but determined. She glanced at the cool, empty space beside her. Oberyn had left yesterday and won’t be back until the weekend. They hadn’t parted on good terms—Brienne disappointed because Oberyn had not kept his promise at all and Oberyn frustrated that she couldn’t understand him. All his calls and messages had been unanswered.

She sighed and sat up—too suddenly, too sharply, it seemed, because an ungodly cramp flared from her back. Wincing, she stilled, willing for the pain to go away. 

Instead, the fist that had dug into her back crushed her spine. It ripped out a howl from her.

“What—what—“ she whispered, confused as she felt being ripped apart from the inside. Gritting her teeth, she removed the blanket. Then she saw it—blood streaming down her legs.

“No!” She shouted helplessly, closing her legs, clutching her stomach. “Please, no!”

 

Margaery, chewing on her fingernails, turned her head upon hearing the rush of footsteps on the linoleum. She shot to her feet as Jaime reached her, pale and his green eyes wide. It looked like he’d torn at his hair judging from its mess. “Where is she?” He demanded.

Her chin trembled. “She’s still in the ER. Oh, Jaime.” Tears exploded from her eyes. “She lost the baby.”

Her wail drew the attention of the nurses, orderlies and other patients in the floor. Jaime put his arms around her and together they sat down.

“It was horrible. There was blood everywhere and she was screaming,” Margaery sobbed. “And I couldn’t—I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” 

“There’s nothing anyone could have done,” Jaime soothed her, rubbing her back. He kept his eyes on the closed doors of the ER. 

Margaery cried some more before she nodded and moved away from him. Brushing her fists on her eyes, she pulled out her phone. “I’ve been calling Oberyn. He’s not answering. I sent him a text but still nothing.” Her voice was bitter. “Everyone of Brienne’s friends I’ve called and texted and they’ve answered except for her husband.”

After a wait that went too long, a nurse approached them and said Brienne was out of the ER. She emphasized that only a relative could see her. Margaery’s face crumpled while Jaime cleared his throat and said firmly, “Good. I’m her husband.”

“There are some forms you have to fill out first, Mr. Martell—“

“They can wait. I need to see my wife.” The way Jaime spoke and looked at nurse told her she would regret it refusing him again. She nodded quickly and stammered out a room number. Margaery nodded at Jaime and he followed the nurse.

From the doorway of the room, Jaime spied a lump on the bed. The nurse muttered he had five minutes but he ignored her. He shut the door and strode to Brienne’s side.

Her eyes were closed but there were still fresh marks of tears on her pale face. It was as if her freckles had been zapped, leaving only a sickly pallor. Gently, he brushed a hand on the furrowed line between her eyebrows. She gasped and her bloodshot eyes flew open. He caught his breath, confused for a moment at how dead her sapphire eyes appeared. All the light in the world was gone.

Fuck, but the sight of her heartbroken destroyed him. She blinked at him uncertainly, probably wondering if he was real or imagined. He kind of liked that she would imagine him at her side at this time. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his hand on her clammy cheek.

“J-Jaime, what are you doing here?” Her voice was raw. What did Margaery say? _She was screaming._

“Pretending to be your husband,” he told her. “Brienne, I’m so sorry.”

She closed her eyes and tears fell. But Jaime wouldn’t just let her cry. He put his arms around her until he could rest his chin on her forehead. Her tears hit his neck, her wet, pitiful gasps ruffled the collar of his shirt. He held her, feeling tears form in his eyes because it felt like she was still being splintered into a million pieces.

“I am so sorry, my love.” he whispered, kissing her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the second installment of The Affair, Brienne tells Oberyn that he wasn't there for her when her dad got sick and then died. This happens later. Her miscarriage is the definite beginning of the break between them. 
> 
> How Jaime feels for her at this point in the third installment (which takes place two years before), we don't know yet. I don't think I've placed any hints but I think some readers may take some things as a clue to how Jaime feels. At this point, I want to establish that they were friends first, rather than diving into a full-blown affair right away. 
> 
> You were probably expecting this chapter to be what happens when Brienne goes to Jaime's acoustic night. I didn't think it was necessary to write it since we know they're together based on the first installment alone. That's why I just mentioned it--it wasn't that important to be featured heavily. What I wanted to focus on is what happened since that night.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. Stay tuned for Part 4, it will be up soon.


End file.
